


Beating Him Home

by MillsFrancis



Series: Old works - Sherlock BBC [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 22:30:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18375380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MillsFrancis/pseuds/MillsFrancis
Summary: It’s time to come home.





	Beating Him Home

The cab crawled forwards, gladly seeming to take forever in getting to his destination. The images outside the glass blurred as he stared forwards. His mind was racing but nothing was registering properly. He knew where he was going, and he knew the streets like the back of his hand. Everything else was irrelevant at this point. He blinked, clearing his eyes, turned his head toward the window and gazed out over the Thames. They'd stopped in traffic on the bridge and, now, looking over the calm waters eased his mind a little. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes. Memories danced in front of him. They were too important to delete. Only little events, but then the little things are infinitely the most important. The cab began to pick up speed and a churning feeling returned in his stomach. His eyelids parted sharply when he felt moisture building up on the edges. His gloved hands brushed gently against his cheeks and cut the droplets off.

Elbow resting on the narrow edge of the open window to his right, he again cast his eyes over the surroundings. They were closer now. The sky was darkening rapidly but it was easy to tell. Was he ready? No. But that was probably as close as he was going to get. The cabbie turned around to ask him a question. He wasn't paying attention but found an answer blurting out anyway. Whether it was the right answer he had no idea. The cabbie seemed satisfied though because he turned back to the road. They continued through the quiet streets, distinctly quieter than he remembered. Never mind, he'd been away for a long time, and things change. He waved it off as lack of something better to observe. Strangely, being back on these streets, however desolate and unlike the ones he remembered, comforted him somewhat. He wished to see them as he once had: alive and bustling with idiots. He hoped things were the way he'd left them and people hadn't moved away. Although only a certain person, some others he wouldn't have minded. He'd find out soon, very soon, they were only two streets away.

The pavements became solid again as the car slowed. It was rush hour traffic but this didn't bother him. He did notice however that it was surprisingly dark for only six pm, even in winter. His head bobbed out the window and looked up at the sky. Grey storm clouds covered it, no gap to the stars above. It was all grey, like a thick blanket. It was a crisp evening and he should've been cold. But he was more…numb. Coldness wouldn't have made a difference, but he pulled his head back inside and shut the window anyway. His forehead rested against the cool glass and he was starting to long to be inside his old home. The constant start stop was beginning to irritate him. His task was of great importance and he had intended to be home before it. Hopefully it was also stuck in traffic. And traffic behind himself.

Thankfully the relentless traffic picked up and soon the cab stopped at the end of the journey. He waved the fee in the drivers face absent mindedly as he opened the door and stepped out. He tightened his scarf slightly and turned his coat collar up 'against the wind.' The cab moved slowly off, leaving the street mostly empty behind him. Looking up at the building sent a strange, indescribable sensation running through his body. The lights were off, apart from one downstairs. But that wasn't the one he was interested in. The ones from rooms he knew well were out, so he walked over to the stone stairs outside the front door, pulled his coat around his legs and sat down. And he waited.


End file.
